


it's hard to be at a party when i feel like an open wound

by cascadeoceanwave



Series: cowboy like me - jaylor lavender marriage one shots [1]
Category: Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: 2017, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Other, brief mentions of eating disorders, but maybe joe can be a shoulder to cry on when she isn't, feeling so gatsby for that whole year, joe is the harry cameron to taylor's evelyn hugo, taylor likes throwing big parties and hoping that karlie will be there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascadeoceanwave/pseuds/cascadeoceanwave
Summary: You're throwing a party and you're anxious as fuck.  You really just wanted to see Karlie, but a photoshoot was rescheduled at the last minute and she had to hop on a plane to Paris, so now you're busying yourself with setting out drinks and snacks and feeling very lonely.
Relationships: Joe Alwyn & Taylor Swift, Karlie Kloss/Taylor Swift
Series: cowboy like me - jaylor lavender marriage one shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061351
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	it's hard to be at a party when i feel like an open wound

**Author's Note:**

> cw/tw for brief mentions of eating disorders

You're throwing a party and you're anxious as fuck. You really just wanted to see Karlie, but a photoshoot was rescheduled at the last minute and she had to hop on a plane to Paris, so now you're busying yourself with setting out drinks and snacks and feeling very lonely. Security shoots you a text when the first guests arrive, and you welcome Cara and Lily with open arms. People peter in and you flit between friend groups, fretting about whether everyone is comfortable or has a drink in hand

If Karlie were here, you know she'd tease you for stressing and make you sit down, but she isn't and you'd much rather busy yourself with being the perfect hostess than dwell on her absence. Everything feels hard today, and even though your baseline state is calmer than it was a year ago, you still have bad days. 

Once everyone is settled in and comfortable, you let yourself have a drink. And another. And another. Time passes and you somehow find yourself sinking to the floor of your kitchen to try and ease the ache in your chest and the pounding of your head. You close your eyes for a moment to try to collect yourself until you hear footsteps. You open them. It’s Joe. 

You’d mostly invited him because you felt like you had to. You’re closer than you were with Calvin or Tom, certainly, and you text a solid three times a week. You knew he was in the area, and felt guilty because you knew it was because of you. You hoped you could pay him back in booze.

"Hey, mind if I take a seat?" Joe asks, nodding to the floor next to you.

"Be my guest," you say, taking another swig of whiskey. The room spins a little and you lean your head back against the cool fridge. 

"You alright?" You open your eyes to him peering at you with concern.

"Yeah, just got a little dizzy for a second. But I'm fine."

"That doesn't sound fine," he says in a worried voice, "I'll get you some water." He gets up and leaves the room, presumably to pour from the pitcher you put on the table. The tightness in your chest eases a little. It's nice to feel cared for. He comes back with a solo cup filled with water and a plate of cheese and crackers. "Fake boyfriend Joe to the rescue," he quips, sitting down next to you. "Let's get some actual sustenance in you."

You smile weakly because you know he's trying. You feel so guilty. You want to be friends, but your brain is just so loud and you feel terrible for bringing him into it. You accept the glass of water and take a few sips, feeling the coolness of it settle in your stomach. 

"Better?" He asks. You nod. "Have a cracker." He hands you the paper plate. 

The idea of eating right now makes you feel nauseous, so you push the plate away. “I’m not hungry. But thank you.”

“Are you sure? When was the last time you ate something?”

“I...this morning,” you say honestly, because you’re already drunk and sitting together on your kitchen floor, so what else do you have to lose? You look up at his face and it takes your eyes a moment to focus. He still looks worried.

“Well that’s probably why you feel so shit. Come on, just try to eat something.”

The gravity of the situation hits you--a man who’s only here because of a contract is nursing you back to health after you drank so much you’d think it was the first time--and you burst into tears. You feel like a little kid. “Fuck,” you gasp, balling up your fists to stop yourself from wiping at your waterproof mascara, “I’m sorry. I promise I’m not usually like this.” That’s half true: you  _ are _ , but you usually do a better job of hiding it. Just because you’ve gained most of the weight doesn’t mean you don’t think about losing it every day.

Joe sort of sits there in confusion, not quite knowing what to do. You don’t blame him, because there isn’t really a blueprint for your relationship, not even from the other beards you’ve had in your life. He hesitantly puts the plate down and gathers you into a hug. You hug back, and try to steady yourself. You notice how safe he makes you feel.

“You alright?” Joe asks again when you pull away.

“I will be,” you say, “Thank you. I’ve honestly been having kind of a shitty day. I didn’t mean to get so drunk. I really miss Karlie.” Your voice breaks. “I kind of mostly threw this party because I thought she’d be here, but then she couldn’t come, and here I am.”

“How very Gatsby of you,” Joe smiles. You laugh, and quickly stop when it makes you head pound and spin again. 

“Fuck,” you say quietly, bringing your hand up to massage your temple. “Don’t--I’m eating a fucking cracker, don’t worry,” you say before Joe can open his mouth.

“Good.”

You sit there in silence for a few minutes. You begrudgingly admit to yourself that Joe was right--you do feel better after eating. You stand up and the room has stopped spinning. “I’m going to get more water. Do you want anything?”

“Can you get me a beer, please?”

“Sure.” You glance over the faces in the living room. They all seem to be having a good time. They’re chatting amongst themselves. Loud whoops of laughter are coming from one of the couches as Cara shows a crowd something on her phone. You’re surprised to notice that you’d much rather go back to the kitchen with Joe than participate. It’s nice to have a friend.

“Thank you,” he says when you sit back down. “You seem like you’re feeling better.”

“I am. Thanks for...being here, I guess. Tonight and in general. I know I’m not an easy person to be around.”

“Hey, speak for yourself! I happen to quite enjoy your company.”

You smile and nudge his shoulder lovingly. “Thank you for saying that. The feeling is mutual. I promise I’m not always this much of a mess. This year has just been...a lot.”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, “I can’t even imagine. You’re taking it like a champ, though.”

That makes you laugh for real. “You’d call this,” you gesture wildly, “Taking it like a champ?”

He’s laughing too. “Well...this may not have been one of your finest moments. But I can tell how hard you’re trying. You keep trudging along day after day. That takes some real strength.”

“Well, I assure you I feel strong literally zero percent of the time. But, thank you for noticing that, I guess. I really am trying so hard not to like...give up, and it feels like, on the surface, it seems like I’m barely putting in any effort.” Your voice is shaking. “I’m sorry for putting all of this on you. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“Hey,” Joe says, so seriously that you turn to look at him. “I know our relationship isn’t the most orthodox, but I really would like to consider you a friend, if that’s okay. And, as your friend, I give you permission to vent to me.”

You feel so overwhelmed by emotion that the only thing you can think to do is pull him into a hug again. “Thank you,” you say, “I’d love to be friends. You’d think that with all the years of doing this, I’d be a little less weird about it. You try dating Calvin Harris for a year and see where that takes you, though,” you giggle. 

“Hmm, so you mean none of the boys have been real?” Joe asks.

“Almost none of them. I did actually fuck John Mayer, though,” you say.

“Wow, I’m jealous. How was that?”

“Terrible enough to make me never want a dick in me again,” you say honestly. “I can’t listen to his music anymore without feeling weird, either. So I’d say it was absolutely a net negative.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Joe says, smiling. He pulls away and ruffles your hair lovingly. “Want to get up and join the rest of the party?”

“Yeah, let’s.”

He helps you up off the floor and makes sure you don’t get to bed too late. Overall, a net positive.


End file.
